


Magnetic

by Mia_Zeklos



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M, Uprising Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2055186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_Zeklos/pseuds/Mia_Zeklos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a ball in Alicante, Maryse finds herself torn between her fiancé and the only man that had ever actually meant anything to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magnetic

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I have no excuse for writing this and absolutely no excuse for posting it here, but it was stuck in my head for a week and I just had to write it. It’s my first Mortal Instruments fic, so I excuse for any out-of-characterness.  
> Something interesting to say about it is that the story was strongly inspired by Lana Del Rey’s National Anthem. Not that it’s very important, but I just thought it would explain some strange references in it.
> 
> This had always been one of my favourite pairings and I’m especially fond of it, so I hope it turned out somewhat okay. Reviews are always welcome; I’d love to hear what you people think about it. :)

Maryse had always been good at dancing.

She was proud of it. Especially since her skills weren’t due to lots of training; everyone had always told her that she had a lot of natural grace that showed itself both in fighting and dancing.

It was one of the first days of summer in Idris, and she had chosen a special dress for tonight. It was dark blue, with a few places where the colour gently turned into bloodred. Just like the sky in the last moments before sunrise on some places and just like her eyes on others. The dress was barely reaching her knees and had a corset that, combined with the sapphire blue shoes she was wearing her hair (which Maryse had left down for tonight) made her look like a fairy.

Her mother had told her that Robert would like it, but it wasn’t exactly Robert she had thought of when she was picking up her clothes for the ball in Alicante…

“You seem worried?” she heard Valentine’s soft voice and raised her head to face him as they waltzed around the ballroom. His almost white hair was shining under the lights surrounding them and he was so beautiful that it almost seemed surreal. It wasn’t only beauty, though; the _energy_ that surrounded him like an aura was like a drug for her. “What are you thinking about?”

“The dress.” Maryse said honestly. She wasn’t used to lying, and her answer was half-true, even though she suspected that he might seem pretty shallow in his eyes.

But Valentine smiled and ran his fingers through the black waves of her hair. His eyes were distant and she though that probably his mind wasn’t into the conversation at all – or probably not even in their dance. She mentally scolded herself for letting her mind wandering over dangerous territory. It was just a dance. _And you have a fiancé already; don’t forget that,_ she reminded herself.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s beautiful.” Valentine said, pulling her out of her thoughts. Maryse was about to ask what he was talking about, but then her mind returned to the topic they were on before she had started spacing out again. The dress.

She didn’t answer; she knew that the song was coming to an end, and she was nowhere near having enough of his presence. She still needed to figure out if that glint in his eyes when Valentine was looking at her was just his usual charm as he used it on everyone, or what she actually hoped for. Maryse knew that she would be ready to go back to her friends, if she could only know what he was thinking right now, as he was still holding her in his arms. Her honesty didn’t go that far, though… she couldn’t make herself ask him what _he_ was thinking about, just like he had done a while ago.

Actually, no, Maryse corrected herself sadly. She would never be ready.

Because she loved him.

And she simply couldn’t ask him if he loved her in return. There were so many things on her way – one of them being her pride – that she just couldn’t.

Everything about him was enchanting her in a way she couldn’t explain even to herself; she loved him with a passion that was nearly painful. She couldn’t help but notice that he was seeing the world in the same way she was; sometimes they could spend hours talking about things that concerned both of them and Maryse could see how alike they were. Nothing mattered in moments like this one, when she could drown into the dark pools of his eyes. Was this that one first love that she had read about in her mother’s books so many times?

“I…” Maryse tried, avoiding his gaze. Maybe it would be easier for her to say anything about it if she wasn’t looking directly at him. “Valentine, I think I…”

“Mind if I cut in?”

 _Yes!_ Maryse didn’t say it out loud, but she was sure that Robert – who was currently approaching them – had seen how angry she was when he looked into her eyes.

Or not. He was still staring at her, waving at them like an idiot. Before she had had a chance to protest, however, Valentine smiled to Robert – just like always, Maryse couldn’t tell if it was a real smile or a fake one – and gently passed her into her fiancé’s embrace.

“Of course.” He replied and flashed a quick smile to Maryse too, before leaving them.

Suddenly she felt the Lightwood ring – which had been given to her by Robert just a week ago – burning her hand, as if it was covered in acid.

“Are you all right?” Robert asked worriedly, touching her cheek in concern. Maryse resisted the urge to slap that hand away.

“Sure.” She replied. “I’m fine.

Everyone would have noticed that she was lying, except her oblivious fiancé. With the corner of her eye, Maryse could see that Valentine was already dancing with Jocelyn Fairchild. Jocelyn had always been a good friend of hers, but right now Maryse couldn’t help but think, _Why her and not me? Why couldn’t **she** be the one here, dancing with Robert Lightwood, while **I’m** there, making him laugh and smile like I’ve always done?_  
  
Maryse tried to distract herself from them and turned back to face Robert. She wasn’t supposed to complain; on the contrary, all her friends said that she was very lucky to have someone like him. He wasn’t her first suitor, though; she had had boyfriends before, but he was the only one that actually got the things to engagement. He was good-looking, smart, and a good Shadowhunter. Well, she had to look down to look at him in the eyes – he was shorter than her, which irritated her greatly – but otherwise, he wasn’t that bad.

But he wasn’t like Valentine, either. She couldn’t get lost in Robert’s eyes; couldn’t talk to him for hours without getting tired of him.

“Are you sure you’re not feeling bad?” Robert asked, locking his dark eyes with her crystal blue ones. “You look like…” his voice died and he looked up at her shyly. “Well, like a fairy locked in a cage.” He laughed nervously, apparently thinking that it had sounded stupid, while actually, it was a pretty good analogy. Maryse vaguely wondered what look she was having to make him say that. Maybe he was right. Caged, that was exactly how she felt.

Robert leaned down and kissed her cheek. Maryse closed her eyes, imagining that it was someone else touching her, kissing her, running his eyes through his hair, blinding her with the magnetic power that seemed to be a part of him.

And for an instant, everything seemed almost heartbreakingly perfect and she could feel everything with extreme intensity – the cool summer wind that occasionally came through the open windows of the hall, the gentle touch of her dress that wrapped around her; she could smell the roses outside and her skin was burning every time he kissed her…

“You’re so beautiful.” The voice – not the one she had expected in her fantasy, with her eyes closed – felt like cold water, shortly followed by a surprisingly strong wave of loathe. _I’m not beautiful for **you!**_

She smiled down at him.

“Thank you, darling.”


End file.
